Pineapple Jello
by Penn Flinn
Summary: Shawn faces an unusual form of punishment...one that he can't talk his way out of. Shawn and Gus friendship drabble. No slash. Two-shot. Spoilers for STASITD.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there! This is my first multi-chapter Psych fic, and the first one with some semblance of a plot, however small. This will be two chapters long, if all goes well.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any of the characters, only the label on this story that says "Inspired by a true story."**

"But Gu-u-us…"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Come on, Shawn. You know this has been coming. You just need to get in the car, and you'll be back here before you know it." The car keys twirled in his hand.

Shawn was unmoving in his chair, hands clutching the armrests as if that would lock him in place forever. "You know, I don't think they would really care if I just rescheduled this…or canceled it forever."

"Be reasonable, for once, please," Gus said, eyeing the clock. "We're already late. Stalling isn't going to do anything for you but make people mad."

"Gus, don't be Don Cheadle's accent from Oceans Eleven. Those nurses love me." Shawn paused. "I just don't want them digging my teeth out."

It was Gus's turn to pause. Usually this was his cue to have some snappy retort about Don Cheadle being underrated or pull out some useless fact that Shawn would never think of again—but Shawn's position in the chair stopped him. Gus didn't have the hyper-attentiveness to detail that Shawn did, but he could tell when something was wrong. It was a gut feeling he had. Something about the way Shawn clutched on to the chair or the way he wouldn't look up when he spoke.

Shawn was _scared_.

Gus softened and steadied the keys in his hand. "Listen," he began, "I don't think it's going to be as bad as you think. They knock you out for the whole procedure. You don't feel a thing."

"I know how anesthesia works, Gus," Shawn said, still not looking up.

"I'm just saying," Gus continued. "I don't think you should worry about it. Remember when I got _my _wisdom teeth out?" Shawn nodded bleakly. Gus waited for another response, and reluctantly filled in when he didn't get one. "Yeah, and remember how you laughed at my face?"

"Dude, it was awesome," Shawn said, finally cracking his famous grin. "You were like a little brown hamster."

Gus relaxed a bit. "Well, let me tell you, that's all there was to it. Just a little…fattening of the face. That's it. Nothing to be worried about. I promise I won't even make fun of you." He twirled the car keys once more. "Even though you deserve it."

A pair of rolled eyes and a smile was all the response he got, but it was enough. Shawn was out of the chair and heading for the door, a retort visible on his face.

They stepped out of the apartment and closed the door—Shawn never locked it. Squinting in the early morning sunlight, Shawn lightly punched Gus on the arm. "Thanks for driving me, buddy." Though the tone was light, his voice was a little quieter than usual.

"You're welcome."

That was all Gus needed. Just Shawn's compliance, however reluctant. He'd accomplished that much, at least. He didn't need to know why his friend was so afraid, or perhaps he didn't want to know. He'd gotten what he wanted, and what was necessary. And that was fine. For now.

**Thoughts? Comments? I'd love to hear them! Reviews are always appreciated :] Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! I have to apologize first-this was supposed to get up a long time ago. However, I've been having MAJOR internet problems, to the point where I couldn't even get it at all. So, I'm sorry for taking so long to put this up!**

**Here's the second (and final) part of Pineapple Jell-O!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything besides my own experiences!**

Though the car ride to the surgeon's office was quiet, Gus was uncomfortable. Usually, he would be grateful for the silence. Now, he knew something was wrong with Shawn. He never stayed quiet for long periods of time. However, he knew better than to question it, so he left Shawn to whatever thoughts were consuming him.

For some reason, the sound of Shawn's overly-long sweats dragging on the wet ground on the way into the building disturbed Gus.

He took care of most of the paperwork at the front desk while Shawn sat dejectedly in one of the chairs along the wall. Once he was done taking care of the payment information, he flashed the receptionist one of his winning smiles, then sat down next to Shawn, trying to act natural.

"You know what I picked up at the store last night?" he said, raising his eyebrows a little and looking sideways at Shawn. Shawn's eyes didn't move. Gus took this as a sign to continue. "Pineapple jell-o. Did you even know they made jell-o in a pineapple flavor? I figured…since you were going to be eating a lot of jell-o…" He trailed off. Shawn's features hadn't changed in the slightest. "Shawn?" he asked hesitantly. "Can I ask you a question?"

At once, Shawn's eyes snapped shut. "There are three hats in the room. Four, if you count the weird shower cap thing that's on the nurse that just walked out. There are seven magazines on the table—three outdated copies of People, one Entertainment Weekly, one about gardening, and two old Highlights magazines." His eyebrows raised a little, but his eyes stayed closed. "Who knew they made those anymore?" His eyebrows dropped. "The receptionist is married. Recently, too, from the way she keeps touching the ring. In the fish tank there are five fish, all somewhat resembling those dentist fish in Nemo." He opened his eyes sharply and looked to Gus, expression unreadable. "But maybe that's just me."

Gus gaped. Sure, he was used to his friend's gift, but still…

"You had a question?" Shawn said, looking pointedly at him.

"What was that?" Gus asked, incredulous.

Shawn shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I don't know. Whenever my dad would tell me he wanted to ask a question it was usually something to that effect. 'How many hats, Shawn?'" he imitated bitterly. "His questions always came at the most inopportune moments, too. Moments like these. I guess he thought it was supposed to keep my mind off of things." He snorted.

Gus realized his eyebrows still must be raised in astonishment, because Shawn cut in after a few moments of silence. "Come on now, Gus. Don't be a chunk of blue cheese covered in mold."

"Blue cheese _is _mold, Shawn," Gus said, recovering.

"I've heard it both ways."

A retort was on already on Gus's tongue when a nurse—probably the one Shawn had glimpsed before—opened the waiting room door. "Shawn Spencer?"

Shawn's tortured eyes flicked upward, and he stood dejectedly, hardly saying a word as they made their way through the door and into the narrow hallway beyond. Again, Gus got that unsettling impression of a prisoner walking to his death sentence. The nurse made small talk all the way into Shwan's room, but Gus answered most of the questions, seeing that Shawn was unresponsive still.

"Now, just lie down here," the nurse said, motioning to the reclining dentist chair. She handed him a paper cup full of some clear liquid once he was seated. "Just swish this in your mouth for a few seconds; I'll tell you when you can spit it out."

Shawn did as he was told, and immediately his face turned into a grimace. Still, he waited until the nurse's command to spit out the apparently foul-tasting substance into a waiting tray.

"Please tell me that was the worst part of the procedure?" he said, his faced still scrunched up in disgust.

The nurse just smiled pleasantly and took the tray and empty cup to the sink. Shawn looked at Gus pointedly, then lay back in the chair once more. After disposing of the cup and rinsing out the tray, the nurse walked back over and began placing monitors. Immediately a screen came to life at the far end of the room, showing Shawn's heartbeat and blood pressure. Gus was no expert on heartbeats—in fact, he got most of his medical knowledge in that area from TV shows—but he could tell that Shawn's was unusually fast.

The problem with heart monitors is that everyone can hear the rhythm of your heart…everyone can tell when you're nervous. Shawn seemed to realize this, and he frowned at the loudmouth monitor in annoyance.

"I'll be back in a few minutes with Dr. Fisher," the nurse said, choosing not to comment on the rapid beeping of the monitor. "He'll be setting you up with your IV before the procedure."

She walked briskly from the room, but not before casting Gus a sidelong glance: _Will you try to make him relax? _The heart monitor had spiked even more.

There were a few moments of silence. Then Gus nervously cleared his throat. "Uh…so…"

"There are 37 tiles on the ceiling. Strange that there's an odd number. I guess it's because of the lights." Shawn squinted dramatically. "They're so bright!" His eyes opened again, but they never left the lights. It looked a bit like he was going to be sick. "Hey, you had a question earlier, right?"

The chair Gus was sitting in squeaked a little as he shifted. "Yeah, about that…" He cleared his throat. "Shawn…" Why did he feel so weird asking this question? "Why…exactly, are you so nervous about this whole thing? I mean, aside from the whole 'they're going to be looking into my mouth and pulling teeth' thing?"

"First of all, buddy, not all of us have gorgeous pearly whites like you. Some of us do have to be afraid of people will see in there," Shawn quipped.

Gus raised his eyebrows. "And second of all?"

Shawn drummed his fingers against the armrest of the chair, the monitor on his finger clunking against the pristine blue material. "Second of all…" He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, resigned. "I'm scared, okay? Jeez. That's it."

Gus frowned. He'd been Shawn's friend to know when he was being serious and when he was just kidding around—he was definitely dead serious now, and ashamed of it.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked, genuinely curious.

A forced laugh. "What should we start with? Maybe the many pointy, sharp objects? Or the fact that I'm going to be totally asleep when those pretty little nurses are in the room? If that's not enough, I won't be able to talk or eat Bugles for days…"

He trailed off when Gus gave him a pointed look. Again, Gus had the gift of knowing whether Shawn was being serious or not. Sure, he was serious enough—he did, it seemed, have a legitimate fear of missing out on an opportunity to flirt—but it wasn't the honest answer Gus was looking for. The look of resign again passed over Shawn's face.

"Okay, okay. No need to get all serious about it…" Shawn grumbled. "The truth is…well, it brings up some…_unfortunate _memories."

He shifted his arm then, unconsciously, as if he was experiencing discomfort. _Or ghost pain,_ Gus realized, everything falling into place.

"This is about the whole ice cream truck case!" Gus said.

"Wow, buddy. Maybe you are the psychic one, like your Uncle Burton thinks," Shawn said, with a touch of his usual amusement. "Maybe you should call him up and make some more psychic predictions…"

"You're afraid of being in a hospital again," Gus cut him off, frowning. "Of hurting again."

That shut Shawn up, for a few seconds, at least.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't realize…I mean, you've been in hospitals so much…"

"It's okay," Shawn said. "Really." He sighed. "That…_case_, it changed my perspective on things a little. You know? Like one second I was comfortable with things, and then, bam! It all comes crashing down, and suddenly I'm in the worst pain of my life, ready to bleed to death. It changes your view on life a little. Not that I would tell anyone other than you that. To everyone else I'm still just the old Shawn Spencer," he held up a hand to his head with a flourish. "Daring psychic detective, keeper of ruggedly attractive hair and delicious pineapples."

"You know, you don't always have to be joking. It's okay to talk about serious things, for once," Gus said, rolling his eyes.

"I know," Shawn crumpled a little in his chair. "But, honestly, I don't really _want _people to know that I'm terrified of being poked with needles and being weak and helpless at the hands of random strangers." His expression was dark. "I don't want to appear that frail."

Gus swallowed. He hadn't exactly expected _that _response. What do you say to that? Sure, he'd been in plenty life-threatening situations (all of which caused in some way by Shawn), but he'd never been shot and kidnapped. He didn't know what that was like.

"So, that's why you've been so worried about this whole procedure." It was a start, anyway.

Shawn nodded.

Gus straightened himself in his chair. "Well, I don't know if this helps at all, but this isn't going to be anything like what you went through before. Seriously. People say this all the time, but it's true that it's over before you know it. Also, you won't be in nearly as much pain. It'll be a breeze compared to being shot."

A small chuckle escaped Shawn. "I should hope so."

"I'll be here for you too, for whatever you need. I'm not leaving that waiting room," Gus added.

Shawn nodded again, and Gus could see some bit of relief or gratitude in his eyes.

At that moment, a storm of nurses, lead by Dr. Fisher, entered the room, and everything was engulfed in activity. Gus felt more and more out of place as things progressed. One minute Shawn was getting a cap secured over his hair (not without complaint), the next Dr. Fisher was at his side wrapping his upper arm in preparation for the IV. He made a little small talk, and Shawn complied this time.

"You'll only feel a little sting," the doctor said, bringing out the needle.

The nurse at Shawn's side must have seen the hesitation in his eyes. "Do you want to hold my hand?" she asked.

A small smirk crossed Shawn's face. "No, I'm good." However, Gus could still see the apprehension in his eyes.

Gus, as usual, had to turn away from the needle. Shawn laughed a little at that. Oh, well. Anything to make Shawn laugh.

The IV was in place, and the nurses continued with their preparations. One glanced at Gus, and he sensed it was time for him to leave. He stood, straightening his coat as he made his way to the doorway.

"Hey," Shawn's voice was a bit smaller. Gus turned, and Shawn's eyes were piercing, yet full of meaning. "Thanks, buddy. Really."

"No problem."

"You're going to start feeling kind of strange now. The anesthesia will take effect in about fifteen seconds…" the doctor was saying.

Shawn turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "I lied. There are 37 tiles on the ceiling."

"That's…what you said last time," Gus said, turning again in the doorway.

"Really? That's weird." The drooping of Shawn's eyes was getting more evident. "Dude, now they're moving! Everything's getting all dis…distorted. Like in that movie. That makes me…" His eyelids closed completely.

At a nod from the nurse, Gus exited the room and closed the door behind him quietly, already hearing the voices that would spend the next hour taking care of his best friend. And after that, Gus would be there waiting.

The Friends marathon was already recorded at home. The jell-o was in the fridge.

Yeah, they'd be okay.

**What do you think? I was considering writing a "recovery" little sequel, but I'm not sure yet. Maybe it's better just to leave it at this? Anyway, I love reviews! Thanks for reading!**


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